


In Something You Can't Get Out Of

by Pisces21Red



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abuse, Arguments, Crime, Cruel Mob Boss, Dangerous Situations, Death, Defiant Mickey, Drugs, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hospitalization, Humiliation, Italian Mafia, M/M, Milkovich Family Secrets, People Try To Help Mickey, Rape, Russian Mafia, Sexual Abuse, Stubborn Mickey, Threats, Trapped Mickey, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pisces21Red/pseuds/Pisces21Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey ends up being in an abusive relationship with a ruthless famed boxer and Mafia boss. He knows he can't leave or else he's as good as dead or it's likely his family and friends will be hurt.</p><p>Ian, despite having left Mickey, not only wants him back but he, Mandy, Svetlana and the Gallagher's, including Kev and V, try to help Mickey.</p><p>1/27/2018 ~ Author's Note in case anyone's interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mafia movies have got to be one of my favorite kinds of movies to watch, just under horror movies. I've seen most of the classics and just wanted to try a Mafia-centered story in the Shameless universe of course.
> 
> Depending on how well people take to this, it'll be continued. It's a trial run because this story is likely to be one of the more violent stories out of the rest of my other stories, so in case people want to back out.

A spartanly decorated bedroom lie in disarray as fragments of shattered glass adorned the floor, the sun’s luminous rays shined proudly through the open mahogany French windows, with the thick dark curtains pushed off to the side, glinting reflectively off of the pieces. The king sized bed’s comforter as well as its ebony Egyptian cotton blankets and pillows were discarded carelessly on the luxuriously smooth and snow white carpet amidst a clutter of a couple of table lamps, desk supplies and papers and other random shit tossed and turned during the intense brawl between the room’s usual inhabitants.

Outside, the birds tweeted soulfully loud and cheery. Their songs blended in discordantly yet at the same time comfortingly with the chattering of people walking and talking and the motor of expensive ass vehicles steering speedily down the road in a hurry to get to fuck all.

Back inside the disastrous bedroom, it was quiet except for the sound of harsh smacks; almost like skin slapping against skin punctuated by animalistic grunts and pained hisses.

Mickey Milkovich was pressed flat against the floor, at the foot of the bed, hands punching uselessly at the tanned built chest property of the mountain of a man that towered over him. Mickey’s shirt was tattered and bloody beyond repair as it sat precariously on his heavily blemished and marked up upper body. His naked and bruised legs jerked continuously in the air on both sides of the man’s shoulders as he was brutally being driven into, courtesy of the thick and long, cut cock attached to his attacker.

Mickey’s face was smothered in bruises upon bruises, his right eye already swelling shut, his lip split and bloody and a cut or two marred the rest of the smaller male’s usually milky pale and ethereally freckled face.

The knuckles of his fists were painted indignantly in red marks as the result of fighting for what felt like his life as he and this man had one of their many tumultuous scuffles.

“How does that feel, baby?” The man panted out roughly, a dark smirk conquering his thick lips.

Mickey sneered up at the man through gritted blood-stained teeth and hawked a mouthful of blood and saliva straight into the man’s face. “Fuck off, Jax…you piece a’ shit.” His head is immediately knocked to the side by the force of Max’s open hand, causing Mickey’s vision to blank out for a minute in white hot pain.

Jax Ronan stopped short the second the DNA of the male beneath him was ejected onto his face making his features twist into a snarl as he lifted Mickey’s legs up higher until he was nearly bent in half and plunged himself deeper into the bruised and bloody man, ripping a pained scream out of Mickey’s throat.

“Still feel tough, huh?” Ronan mocked.

Mickey forced his open mouth closed and bit his bottom lip to prevent from giving this douche bag any more pleasure from his pain. “Hope you don’t really believe this actually hurts, you fuck like you've never used your fuckin' dick before. Guess all that fightin' fucked up your brain beyond fuckin' repair.” Mickey knew that that was one of his worst and ineffective insults as he can up with more creative shit than that just as much as he also knew that though Jax is a definitive dickhead, he certainly knew how to fuck.

Jax slapped Mickey again, making his head snap to the side, and this time Mickey’s head remained that way as he tried to force himself to keep from vomiting or passing out, he ain’t no bitch, but fuck, this son of a bitch can hit like a Mack fucking truck. His mouth worked from side to side to feel if his jaw was broken and thankfully it wasn't but it still hurt like a motherfucker.

It would make sense, since Jax Ronan was a boxer; a world class weight champion.

Dude had been undefeated since before he met Mickey and that was five years ago.

But right now Mickey could care less about regaling himself about how fucked up him met even more, more than Mickey knew at the time, fucked up Jax Ronan, as his whole body was thrumming _and_ throbbing in agony from the backbreaking thrusts being delivered to his unprepared hole and the innumerable amount of punches and slaps and kicks that Ronan, without hesitation, subjected him to for the first hour or so of their fighting.

Now, don’t get him wrong he got a few good shots in himself. He had kneed Jax in the nose, dealt out a few left and right hooks to Jax’s face but Mickey knew that that was what made the man even more mad from their previous argument about…Mickey doesn’t even fucking remember how this whole shit started.

Mickey had street fighting skills, as not only a Milkovich but as a Southsider from the city of Chicago, it was essential to be able to learn how to kick ass and take names. However, Jax was a fucking _boxer_ for fuck’s sake and not only that, he was in the top five of the best boxers in the fucking world and as much as Mickey’s reluctant to admit it, he knew damn well that when it came down to it, he wouldn’t last 30 minutes in a fight with him. He could try, he definitely wouldn’t back down to a challenge, but he’d fail; like he always did when he and Jax physically fought.

Jax leaned over Mickey and roughly smashed their lips together in a bloody-fueled kiss and their teeth knocked painfully together making Mickey wince even more and pull his head away. Jax let out a dark and mocking laugh and continued with his thrusting.

Tears started to make their slow descent down Mickey’s bruised cheek from the mixture of pain and helplessness and overall anger at getting involved with Jax in the beginning.

Mickey turned his gaze to the alarm clock sitting innocently on the bedside table and realized that Yevgeny was on his way there and it was likely he’d be there in about ten minutes.

His muscles felt like they were being used as a drum as if someone was constantly banging on them with how much they throbbed and ached but Mickey gritted his teeth and punched Jax right in the mouth, gathering all his strength in one power-filled sucker punch.

Jax’s head was knocked back by the sheer momentum of the hit and it was enough of a distraction that Mickey used one of his legs that was braced on Jax’s shoulder to kick him square in the chest. Mickey had to pull himself off of Jax’s still hard dick as the kick didn’t necessarily push Jax back far enough for him to completely slip out of him.

Mickey let out a small whimper from the excruciating pain radiating in sharp webs throughout his lower body but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he stumbled to get up. The moment he stood up, grabbing a hold of the crumpled bed sheets hanging off the bed to balance himself, his legs started to wobble erratically forcing him to the ground like a baby deer trying to walk on its own for the first time.

“Fuckin’… _shit_.” Mickey felt his legs being pulled and he dug his fingers into the carpet as Jax climbed onto him from behind and dropped his heavy weight on top of him.

“You fucking _bitch_ ,” The larger male spat out venomously, his fingers clenching tightly into the Milkovich’s gelled back hair. “You just love to piss me off, don’t ya’?”

The side of Mickey’s face was pressed into the carpet and a slick line of blood was trailing out of his mouth, slowly dripping in rivulets to create a growing small puddle into the rich carpet.

“Jax…Jax, please, Yev’s gonna be here soon...” Mickey hated begging his asshole boyfriend for anything. He knew it gave the boxer a fucking power trip to reduce someone like Mickey to a pleading and crumpled heap, tears streaming down his blood streaked face.

But Mickey was admittedly terrified of what Jax was capable of and he hated that feeling with a burning hot fucking passion. Mickey had thought his terror over another domineering male ended with the permanent incarceration of his piece of a fuck Nazi father.

Then of course, just Mickey’s fucking luck, he met someone who instilled the fear of fucking God and Satan and every monster, creature and witch out there, in him, possibly moreso than Terry Milkovich.

Jax wasn’t like this in the beginning. Or maybe he was and Mickey was just too fucking blinded and stupid and heartbroken and insecure all at once because he was usually a good judge of character and he knew he should’ve just taken that dangerous glint in Jax Ronan’s hazel eyes when they first made eye contact and the memory of it home with him. But he just had to ignore it because that look, it painfully reminded him of a certain _someone_ , someone with blue-green eyes and fire red hair.

Mickey sometimes believed he was a masochist because Jesus Christ, to bring so much pain on himself and pursue shit that he knew was just going to bite him in his scarred ass cheek sooner or later was pretty much an indication that the Milkovich had a penchant for shit going downhill extremely fast.

“You afraid he’s gonna find Daddy all curled up and crying like a fucking baby? Think he’ll lose even more respect for you than he already has?” Jax whispered, a dirty smirk outlined on his own split lip.

“Fuck- _ahh_ , _fuck_!” Mickey was cut off as searing hot pain infiltrated his senses again and he screwed his eyes shut and let out a loud, drawn out groan.

“That’s the idea, baby.” Miraculously, Jax was still hard and had shoved himself back into Mickey’s bloody and torn opening, causing Mickey to shed a few more tears from the overwhelming agony he was being forced through.

His mouth wide open and eyes half-lidded with his face scrunched up in an evident pain-filled grimace, Mickey blindly reached an arm back to try and push Jax away from him but Jax pushed his arm away easily, going back to his vicious thrusting.

Little grunts escaped from Mickey’s mouth while Jax’s own grunts overlapped with Mickey’s as a result of his exertion.

Flashes of vibrant orange hair and bright eyes and a radiant smile shot through his mind in almost photographic random sequences and Mickey screwed his eyes shut tight and shook his head harshly to get the images out of his mind. That fucker left him and Mickey was still bitter over that shit. He fucking hated his goddamn guts yet as Jax refused to stop in his frantic ramming through Mickey’s bleeding and damaged orifice, Mickey couldn’t help but reminisce in the ginger's gentle touches and considerate actions and his jokes and his teasing.

More tears leaked from Mickey’s clouded blue eyes but this time they were tears of heartbreak and nostalgia and Mickey felt so fucking pathetic. So pathetic that of all the people in the world, he ended up being in an abusive relationship. He gave back as good as he got when the abuse started but as the years passed by, Mickey became worn down with the bullshit and it’s not like he could really leave and it definitely wasn’t because he was in love with Jax, hell fucking no.

The vibration of a cell going off penetrated through Mickey’s depressing thoughts and weak struggling and his body nearly melted into the floor when he was finally granted reprieve from the scorching, hot pain, when Jax finally stopped.

He pulled out of Mickey and patted him mockingly on the ass before he got up and picked up his cell phone from the nightstand table.

Jax glanced at Mickey. He took in his body still lying flat on his stomach, with ugly bruises covering damn near the expanse of Mickey’s pale muscled back and legs. His arms were splayed out flat, bent at the elbows, over his head on the carpet, and his body was slowly moving up and down from his shallow breathing. He could see part of the crusted blood between Mickey’s legs and he traveled his eyes up the broken body and took in the Milkovich’s face.

His lower face was covered in smears of rusted blood and there were a few cuts up by his temple and one over the high bridge of his nose. A section of his hair was matted in blood and it was unruly, having been messily tousled and released from its gelled prison during the fight.

Mickey’s ice blue eyes were staring at Jax as he answered his phone and Jax smirked slowly. Mickey’s eyes were glaring at Jax with a burning look akin to hatred and it was menacing, Jax could admit that. He was surprised how strong the glare was considering one of Mickey’s eyes was narrowed to a near slit from the punch Jax delivered to his eye earlier, making it heavily swollen and a dark, dark purple.

It was amazing actually. No matter how many times he and Mickey fought, no matter how many times Jax made him do something humiliating in front of his subordinates, no matter how many times Jax threatened him and his family and friends, Mickey never lost that defiant look in his eyes. That fire still burned, bright and hot as lightning itself, after years of them being together.

Jax shook his head, turned his attention to his phone and finally answered it.

“What?” He was a bit irritated that he was interrupted from his _loving_ session with his boyfriend.

Mickey was still lying near motionless on the carpet and a couple of times he’s tried to move but not without being hit with that nauseating pain hammering throughout his body, making him drop back to the floor. He hoped that maybe Yev got caught up with something and he wouldn't make it until later, but that wish was squashed when he heard a car pull up into the driveway and the car door slam.

“Are you fucking serious?” Mickey turned his attention back to Jax when he heard the annoyed accented tone, his face twisted in concealed frustration. “Alright, alright, calm down, I’ll be there in a bit…Until then, just keep those fuckers on the ice.”

He hung up without hearing so much as a reply or confirmation and carelessly dropped his phone back onto the table. Mickey could see his jaw was clenched as he stared at the opposite wall in some type of contemplation, but the dark haired male swallowed noiselessly as Jax swiveled his gaze to him when they both heard the front door slammed open and then shut.

“Well, as much as I wanna stay and continue our conversation and witness your son’s face when he finds Daddy in pain, I have some idiots that need to be taken care of for fucking up an easy business deal,” Jax ventured into the master bathroom and Mickey could hear the rush of the water, though it sounded like roaring in his ears, coming from the sink.

He heard Yevgeny downstairs in the kitchen, probably getting something to eat and then the switch of the living room T.V. turning on. Mickey closed his eyes and took in a deep ragged breath before forcing himself to painstakingly lift up onto his hands and knees, more small whimpers tumbling out. Blood was still leaking in a stringy stream from his mouth and he used his wrist to wipe it away. He slowly crawled over to the other side of the bed and grabbed his pants, lying tattered on the floor, and he reached into the pocket, pulling out his own cell and flipping through the contacts until he found the one he needed.

Sending out a quick text, he grasped the phone and used the bare mattress, to help him up and his arms started to shake from trying to hold himself up but he forces himself to stand against it.

“So,” Jax came out of the bathroom, his jeans re-buttoned since he never took them off, and a white buttoned down shirt sat neatly on his upper body, the long sleeves folded up to his veined forearms. His face looked cleaner but Mickey felt a sickening satisfaction spread throughout his stomach for giving him that bruise on his cheek and the cuts littering the other side of his face from when Mickey pushed him into the glass table and of course the obviously broken and swollen nose from when Mickey punched the fuck out of him. “Oh, you got yourself up, goddamn you’re a fighter, aren’t ya’, baby?”

He wasn’t that surprised that Mickey found the strength to move. It wasn’t the first time.

Jax walked to the dresser and clipped his watch on his wrist, grabbing his wallet and keys next, going back to the nightstand to grab his phone and he turned back to the bent over Milkovich lying over the side of the bed.

“So, I’ll see ya’ later. Gotta go take care of these dumbasses and see if anyone wants their body to go for a swim.” Jax leaned down and tried to give Mickey a kiss on his lips but the smaller male moved his head away and Jax laughed, getting up and going to the door, but he remembered something and turned back to the hurt male. “Oh, and get someone to clean this shit up.” He gestured to the fucked up room.

The younger male smiled and then opened the door, slamming it behind him as he walked out.

Mickey collapsed onto the bed in relief and closed his eyes.

The real reason Mickey’s reluctant to leave this fuck-face is not because he’s a famed boxer.

It’s because within the first year of them dating, Mickey found out that Jax Ronan is a fucking Mob boss. Not only that, but he had ties with the Russian Mafia, considered to be the Mafia of all Mafias in the whole fucking world.

And Mickey knew that there was no fucking way that if he left Jax, he’d escape with his heart still beating, let alone his family and friends would most likely become Jax’s target if Mickey did manage to leave him successfully.

Mickey knew he was trapped and as much as he liked to appear as being a heartless bastard, he’s man enough to admit that he’d fucking die before Jax laid a hand on his family.

He wasn’t stupid enough to try to go against someone as powerful as Jax and Jax fucking knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gruesome scene I know. Just wanted to capture people's attentions with the first chapter.
> 
> And I may continue it, like I said in the beginning, depending on how well it's accepted.
> 
> Title comes from Eminem's 'Love Game' ft. Kendrick Lamar; though I tweaked the lyric a bit to fit better with the story.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your kudos and comments! I know that first chapter was hard to read and I know most, if not all, the people in this fandom would rather not see Mickey, or anyone in general being abused but I'm glad people have taken to this pretty well so far.
> 
> So, enjoy!

Mickey still remembered how they met.

Trying to support and make sure that Yevgeny had a good life for 12 years, with the help of Svetlana and Mandy, and focusing his sole attention on his son’s general well-being, didn’t leave Mickey time or too much interest in getting out and dating.

Or getting laid.

It wasn’t until at the encouragement of Mandy and surprisingly Svetlana that Mickey finally considered letting loose and taking a few hours off from parenting, while Mandy and Svetlana watched Yevgeny.

After he and Ian parted on…not so amicable ways on Mickey’s part, which he couldn’t stand to think about to this day, ‘cause fuck that fucker and his ungrateful ass, when Yevgeny was about five and Ian was stable on his meds with the help of Mickey and his family and friends, Mickey didn’t dwell on his absence much.

Mickey did feel like a huge chunk of himself was torn away and was used as a baseball during an intense game, as well as the fact he stayed holed up in his room for a couple of weeks, lacking the enthusiasm to do anything, when Ian told Mickey to go and find someone better.

When Ian left, Yevgeny was fucking inconsolable, as according to him, Ian was his best friend and Mickey knew that the kid felt that Ian was like another dad to him. Mickey remembered staring at the bawling five year old, feeling helpless because Mickey himself was hurting just as much, if not more, than Yevgeny since essentially the love of his life just up and left.

But Mickey slowly got himself together and got to the point where he was just like fuck Ian.

And eventually, Yevgeny had settled down after a couple of months of acting out in sadness and anger.

He knew that he had to do right by his kid and though he rarely admitted it verbally, nor did he ever get any more chances to try, his love outside of Yev had to be put on the backburner, however long it may take.

Yevgeny was 12 at that time, however Mickey didn’t trust that he wouldn’t get up to any trouble staying in the crappy apartment by himself, so the help of Svetlana and Mandy was enlisted. They had their own partners at their respective homes that Mickey knew they’d rather tend to and Mickey fought hard to insist that he was fine being single and they should keep their asses home but they insisted harder.

Mickey had cleaned up well and dressed himself in some form fitting skinny jeans, far from tight, but enough to show off his nice legs, goddamn Ian, and ass. They were assisted by a long-sleeved, button down, dark blue shirt that brought out his iced blue eyes. He had topped it off with his signature black clunky boots, tanned jacket, his light green coat and his black and red checkered scarf since Mother Nature decided she wanted to make it as cold as a polar bear’s nipples outside in the city of Chicago. And Mickey had guessed she was kind of justified in doing so because it was in the middle of winter but still.

When he was assured enough over the safety of his son, Svetlana and Mandy forced him out and he wound up at some, a mix between seedy and upscale, bar a few blocks from his apartment. Mickey could afford just enough to live it up the tiniest bit but not enough to upgrade to a better equipped apartment due to his measly pension from random jobs he found around the city.

After sitting at the bar for a couple of hours, still on his first beer because he didn’t feel up to getting drunk, and not garnering a single iota of attention from anyone, which didn’t that just make him feel like he was a hot, steaming pile of shit, Mickey was just about to call it a night and go home.

But then this man came up and plopped himself down on the stool next to Mickey whom inwardly rolled his eyes thinking it was a fat, ugly slob looking to get lucky or something like that. So when Mickey lifted his head up from his beer bottle to tell the fucker to get lost and find some other place to sit where his own ass wasn’t occupied, he froze when his eyes made contact with bright hazelnut ones.

When Mickey looked around himself to make sure the dude was actually sitting next to him and it wasn’t some ploy, Mick noticed that some people were peeking glances up at them, while others were outright staring and with a heinous glare, most of them turned their gazes away.

Satisfied that this hot as fuck dude was still sitting there and seemed interested Mickey turned to look at him, taking notice of those amazing eyes once more. They were sweet and warm yet Mickey could automatically see the hint of danger that lurked beneath the depths, which he didn’t honestly believe he’d regret later. They were reminiscent to that of one specific Firecrotch. But Mickey was more focused on the tall, muscled, gorgeous man sitting right next to him that he couldn’t be bothered to think of his past right then.

He had a ruggedly handsome face; evidently naturally tanned body with a dually slightly crooked and aristocratic nose, full pink lips, and sexy dark stubble covering the lower half of his face. His head was buzzed with the slightest furring of dark brown hair visible and it appeared to be soft instead of prickly, but Mickey couldn’t be too sure until he felt it under his palms later on.

Mickey was already partially gone by the mere look of the guy.

Then the man opened his mouth and out came something atypical and refreshing and Mickey privately left the building in bridled pleasure.

“You got a kid, don’t ya'?”

As weird as it sounded, Mickey just knew at that point, he was going home with the guy that night, without a fucking doubt. The darkly dulcet tone made love to Mickey’s ears and he thought he detected an accent somewhere in there but at that time Mickey just thought he was hearing things.

Mickey did play hard to get for the next three hours they sat at the bar though. As sexy as the man was, it was unlike Mickey to open up so easily. The first hour, the dude would ask him a question and Mickey would give a non-committable answer. Mickey had to give props to him for keeping his patience for that long. Mickey’s sure that 99% of other guys would have just up and left after 20 minutes, taking the hint that they weren’t getting any ass that night.

And then when Mickey felt he took long enough to judge this interesting character, he started to contribute to the meaningless conversation and learned that the dude’s name was Jax and he was 26, a whole four years Mickey’s junior, which made Mickey feel a tiny bit old, but whatever, it’s not like he hasn’t fucked someone younger than him before.

Long story short, an hour later, Mickey was on his back in Jax’s feather soft bed, clutching his limbs around Jax tightly, moan after moan tumbling out of his slacked mouth, being plowed into like his fucking life depended on it. It was then that Mickey learned of Jax’s Australian accent and how it apparently showcased itself when he was insanely turned on or when he was angry, like Mickey became privy to later on.

Dirty, heavily Australian accented words flowed in Mickey’s ear like an orgasmic waterfall, while Jax had continued to thrust deeply within him and Mickey refused to believe that Jax’s voice alone had made him cum what felt like the fucking universe out of his dick.

He had passed out and then when he woke back up, they had went at it for two more rounds before Mickey couldn’t cum anymore and felt like his body was over-sensitized to the fucking max. Jax had offered Mickey a cigarette and they remained like that until the early hours of the morning, lying side by side in the huge bed, telling each other about themselves since the idea that that night wasn’t going to be their last together seemed to be mutually unspoken between them.

Mickey had learned that his full name was Jaxton Ronan and Mick had scoffed disbelievingly because Ronan; leave it to Mickey to go out after seven years of no action and ironically the first guy to take an interest in him was once again Irish.

Unsurprisingly to Mickey, the dude was a boxer; his body was self-explanatory enough that this dude did something hardcore for a living to have so many scars and scratches and bruises all over him. But to Mickey’s shock, he was a world weight class champion, who was well known apparently and Mickey had thought back to when people were staring at them in the bar. It was because they recognized this dude as being one badass motherfucking boxer.

Jax had been born and raised in Australia with his half-Australian, half-Italian mother, while his pure-blooded Italian father, alright so maybe he wasn’t Irish, the fuck was with the last name then?, was out somewhere in North America doing business or something like that. He had grown up in a nice and loving household, unlike Mickey and seemed to have enjoyed his childhood greatly. He surfed and helped out tourists and was well-liked by his peers and friends and of course women threw themselves at him.

Jax was bi. And with his looks and easy-going personality, he had the best of both fucking worlds.

He didn’t specify the number of people he’s dated/fucked but Mickey had the feeling it was more than can be counted on ten toes and ten fingers collectively. He himself knew he had slept with at least less than 10 people, random people he fucked in alleys, Angie Zago, a couple of his brothers’ buddies, and Ian. But Mickey wasn’t bi, obviously. He was gay to his fucking soul, as he said that night he came out to his whole family, a big ol’ ‘mo. He didn’t like getting pounded in his ass for nothing for Christ’s sake.

Jax continued on to explain that his father came back to Australia for him the moment he turned 18 and he went with him back to North America. When he was working out in a local gym somewhere down in New York, some dude had noticed him beating the shit out of a punching bag and within a couple of weeks, Jax became a boxer. Obviously, he had to climb his way up the ranks by beating the shit out of some tough opponents but he did work his way up closer and closer to that pinnacle of success.

Jax had given him the shortened version of everything which Mickey didn’t mind as it was nearing six in the morning and he had realized that he hadn’t even called ‘Lana or Mandy to check in on Yev or to let them know he wasn’t coming home last night.

Within an hour, Jax had given him his number and Mickey was in too much of a rush to leave his own, and he had called a taxi to drop him off at the bar where he and Jax met, where his car was still situated.

When he got back home, Svetlana nor Mandy chewed him out. They had just teased and mocked him for finally getting some after what seemed like an eternity, joking that he probably had damn spider webs down there and shit; fucking bitches. He did tell them to fuck off though when they asked for details; he may have gotten closer to the two of them in the last few years but it didn’t make them girlfriends or any gay shit like that.

He didn’t tell them about the dude giving Mickey his number because he just knew they were going to do something ridiculous like call Jax and force Mickey to talk to him like a bunch of immature teenagers.

It actually took Mickey three weeks to finally summon up the courage to call Jax because there’s no way he’d admit it out loud but he became more self-conscious about himself, especially after Ian left and though that night at Jax’s reaffirmed Mickey’s love of getting fucked to within an inch of his life, he didn’t know if Jax truly felt the same even though Jax did send off some signals of 'more' when Mickey walked out of his house.

But then he figured, the dude did give him his number right? Certainly, Mickey did something right and Jax saw something in Mickey that he liked.

The rest was history.

“You doing okay there?” A Brooklyn-accented voice asked Mickey, breaking him out of his trip in the past.

He was splayed out flat on his stomach on a rickety old cot in a crummy apartment, not unlike what his old place was like, as a man around Mickey’s age worked on his severely ripped and crimson stained hole with steady hands.

“Does it look like I’m doin’ okay? It feels like someone shoved a hot fuckin’ pole up my ass!” Mickey snapped, hissing when the man swabbed over the torn skin of his inner cheeks with a cotton ball drenched in Peroxide.

“Hey, I’m doing you a favor, as fucking always. You’re lucky I don’t call the goddamn cops down here and let them deal with this shit.”

“You wouldn’t. They’d haul your ass down to the fuckin’ station for running an unlicensed medical business, dumbass.” Mickey sassed back.

“This “unlicensed medical business” is saving your ass, literally might I add, isn’t it? Now, shut the fuck up, your voice is annoying me.”

Mickey huffed and aside from the occasional hissed curse and discomfited groan, it was quiet for the next near hour in the small space.

Within that hour, both Mickey and the man heard Mickey’s cell vibrate over 10 times before he, in annoyance, reached over and turned it completely off, which the dark haired male was eternally grateful for, mainly because he knew exactly who was calling.

“…Thanks, O.” Mickey slowly lifted himself up, face screwing up in pain, after O finished stitching, bandaging and cleaning everything up.

“Yeah…”

Mickey knew what the green haired male was going to say and he just wasn’t in the mood for it, he never was.

Oleksander Lagunov, Mickey abbreviated to ‘O’, used to be a real doctor back in his home-country of Russia, however he was stripped of his license and dignity and all chances to ever become employed again when one of his asshole co-workers, who was envious of O’s high success rate, outed him to the administrators or whatever when he found out that O was illegally treating Russian whores for free.

O had tried to argue that the women were brutally beaten and raped when dealing with some clients and they couldn’t always afford healthcare because their pimps took more than half of the money they made. But they had all refused to budge on the topic and O used up a good amount of money he had saved and escaped to America at 25 years old where he started anew.

What was a funny coincidence to Mickey however was the fact that O and Svetlana were friends back in Russia as she went to him a lot when she got the crap kicked out of her, but they lost touch when Svetlana was shipped off to America first. And then a few years back, Svetlana had bumped into O when she was still in the last dregs of the whore business and they re-connected just like that.

When Svetlana got a whiff of what was going on with Mickey and Jax a couple of years into their relationship, she had took reluctant him to O and after about 20 minutes of arguing with each other over nothing really, Mickey and O became tolerant to one another and that was the end of it.

Mickey found it suspicious that the dude was supposed to be Russian, bred and born, but he had no accent whatsoever. Even Svetlana, though she’s lived in America for a while now still had a little bit of her accent left. He asked him once when they were alone together and the guy outright told him it wasn’t really any of his business.

Mickey left it alone and it took him awhile to warm up to the guy and really trust him. The dude had tattoo after tattoo inked onto his body, and Mickey thought they looked bad-fucking-ass but he wouldn’t necessarily trust his health in the hands of someone with an assload of tattoos and bright dyed hair, who the fuck honestly would?

But the guy was kind of cute, Mickey thought, with his neat little goatee and mustache and ears pierced and the tattoos. He was a little on the skinny side but with enough compact muscle and his short green hair actually didn’t look _too_ bad on him. Though why the fuck would someone dye their hair green, especially someone who used to be a doctor, was beyond him.

And they had a couple of common interests that Mickey felt he could work with.

It took Mickey the 28th time of going to O to reveal what the fuck was going on that he had to visit O so much. When he told him, O just gave him a grim look, which made Mickey flip him off; it became more of a nervous and go-to habit when someone was making him uncomfortable. And then O had told him that he had to get out of there and Mickey didn’t want to hear it since he wasn’t the first one who’s said that very same statement to him.

And Mickey knew he won’t be the last.

But that doesn’t mean Mickey will stand for hearing it.

“Don’t, O. Just… _don’t_ , ‘cause I don’t feel like hearin’ that shit right now.” Mickey walked over to the refrigerator, his gait drastically altered from the damage done below.

“…Fine. But sit your ass back down. Last thing needed is for you pulling out your stitches. I’ll get you the beer.”

It was a routine of theirs. Mickey would go to O’s and he’d fix him up the best he could and after he was finished, O would either get Mickey something alcoholic to drink, get his mind off everything, or depending on how bad Mickey was beaten up, Mickey would get it himself.

However, he was in no shape to be up and walking around. Mickey had his number on speed dial for the really severe cases where he was damn near incapacitated and when the Milkovich had called him a few hours ago, wheezing and trying to talk into the phone with a bloody and aching mouth, O didn’t hesitate in driving over and helping the injured male to his place.

He didn’t see Mickey’s son, Yevgeny, anywhere when he walked in the house and just assumed the kid wasn’t there, though he did see his car outside. O was introduced to him as Mickey’s friend a couple years back when Mickey had given him his address or rather Jax’s address since Mickey and Yevgeny had moved in with the boxer within a year of them seeing each other, but they never really talked. Mickey and Yevgeny didn’t really seem too close in O’s opinion.

But when he journeyed up the stairs and knocked on the master bedroom door before cautiously opening it, he felt sick to his fucking stomach because Mickey looked... _awful_ and he like he was in so much _pain_. There were blood splats and smears all over the carpet and glass also nestled in the carpet had the sunlight glinting off of them and the room was really just fucking _destroyed_.

Grabbing a bottle of cold beer from the refrigerator, O handed it to Mickey who was lying on his stomach on the couch, eyes glued to the T.V. but not watching it. He pulled a towel out of the linen closet and draped it over Mickey’s bare ass before sitting down on the wheeled chair.

O stared at Mickey while Mickey stared at the bright colors on the T.V., occasionally sipping on his beer. After some odd minutes, Mickey growled and turned angry and annoyed eyes on O.

“The fuck you starin’ at?”

“You.” O said simply, one arm hanging over the back of the wheeled chair, the other laying over one of his legs, his own beer held loosely in his long fingers.

“Yea, I kinda gathered that. What I wanna know is why. There somethin’ on my face or what?”

O ignored Mickey’s wide-eyed, wild look that said he was about to pop off, and took in his beaten face. Though he put a bag of ice over the swollen eye, the swelling only went down so much, and his eye was still swollen nearly shut. He had a butterfly bandage over a cut on the edge of his eyebrow. There were a few other random cuts and scrapes on the side of his face from being pressed into the glass embedded carpet. His bottom lip was also swollen a bit and a nasty cut appeared towards the corner of the thick lips.

His dark brown eyes then traveled down the expanse of the rest of Mickey’s naked body with the exception of the green towel and stared sorrowfully at all of the black and blue and green and yellow bruises that littered Mickey. There were some old ones and some ones that turned into a permanent scar from the constant abuse over the same bruise. O thought it’d look beautiful, like all the colors of the rainbow randomly splattered on a pale canvas, except this wasn’t a painting, this was fucking reality and someone was _beating_ on Mickey like he was a real life punching bag; how ironic since he knew that that fucker was a boxer and got his start from pummeling one in the first goddamn place.

“What the- fucking ow! What’d you do that for?!” O was knocked out of his thoughts from Mickey throwing the remote at him, which incidentally hit him in the neck.

“What, you wanna fuck me now too? Again?” Mickey questioned.

O’s face went blank before giving Mickey a serious look. “That’s not funny, Mickey. You weren’t just “fucked”, you were fucking  _raped_ ; and you know it's happened more than once.”

“Not tryna’ be,” Mickey ignored the heavily tatted man’s last statement. “Think I was laughin’ when fuck-head was shovin’ his monster dick in my ass? And with the way you were lookin’ at me, I figured you’d want to go another round.” Mickey smirked but O could see that it was pained and Mickey was just putting up a brave front.

“That was one time, years ago and you were drunk as fuck…”

“So, you like to take advantage of people in shitty relationships, is that it?”

“You can fucking walk your ass back home if you’re gonna be a goddamn asshole,” O snapped. “I’m not the one beating the shit out of you almost every night, don’t fucking try to take your attempt at being passive-aggressive out on me, Milkovich. I’m just here to patch you back up just so you can go back in and end up broken all over again.”

Mickey turned back to the T.V. feeling a burning sensation behind his eyes. He knew the skinny male was right. It was actually kind of pointless for the Russian man to keep cleaning him up since he ended up coming back to him in worse shape than he was before, 95% of the time.

What the failed doctor didn’t know, well no one Mickey considered as a friend or family member, was that Jax was part of the Mafia and held the highest position of his famed Italian mafia based family. Mickey hadn’t told anyone about that little tidbit and it kind of hurt and pissed him off at the same time that everyone thought he stayed with Jax because he loved him or some other complete bullshit reason. Like, did that shit even make sense? That Mickey, the same Mickey that they’d known for either his whole life or a good part of his life, would willingly stay with someone who had on more than one occasion tried to put him in what felt like a goddamn coma? Absolutely not. He’d kill a motherfucker if they ever tried to put their hands on him for any other reason than fucking or just being a nice boyfriend.

He couldn’t do that with Jax though. Not only would Jax kill _him_ because he’s seen the man easily snatch a pointed gun from an enemy’s hands and blow their goddamn brains out all in a matter of _seconds_ but even if he did kill Jax, Jax’s family and his other connections would come after Mickey. And Mickey’s pretty sure that he’d be too restless and paranoid to go into hiding and no one else out of his family and friends seem like they’d be too psyched up about that possibility either.

“...He’s gonna kill you, you know.”

Mickey for once didn’t have a smart remark for O’s statement because he knew deep down inside that it’s highly possible that O’s right.

-

Sitting parked across the street in a large and shiny black truck that blended well with the darkness blanketing the city, despite the streetlights, two figures watched the door to the apartment open and a short figure stumble out with the help of a slightly taller and thin male with bright green hair and full sleeved tattoos.

They both watched as the smaller male was helped into the passenger side of the car and given a pillow before the other man walked around the other side and hopped in, pulling away from the curb.

“What do you want to do?” A smooth, heavily accented voice broke through the quietness of the truck.

“Let them go. He’s not there yet anyway.” The dark tone chilled the man’s bones in the driver’s seat.

“Who?”

“The ones that screwed up the paperwork and money for the coke transport.”

The driver raised an eyebrow. “You want to let them go? Just like that?”

In all the years that they’ve known each other, violence was in the other’s vocabulary. There was no belief in people getting away with screw ups, no matter how small it may be.

“Just do it. They won’t know what fucking hit them.”

He didn’t know what that exactly meant but he guessed he’ll find out in due time when somebody’s body washed up on shore.

He rolled his eyes and looked to the passenger sitting next to him. “Where to?”

“His place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once I don't want to say what's going to happen next or what the plan for the future of the next chapters are going to be because I want this story to be completely unpredictable and shocking and thrilling and very unexpected.
> 
> So, hopefully this chapter didn't turn anyone off with the lacking of the characters that I know people want to see. And plus I needed to provide some of the background so people could understand now and help them in later chapters.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn, it has been awhile.
> 
> If anyone noticed, I got rid of some of the tags because I felt that it was too much unnecessary information. 
> 
> Most definitely though more characters are going to be added but these first few chapters will focus on Mickey.

A couple of days later, cooking up some breakfast, Mickey heard Yevgeny come down the stairs and step into the kitchen, settling himself onto one of the barstools on the other side of the marble counter. Mickey turned his head halfway to the side and glanced at the male before speaking up, going back to stirring the eggs.

“You hungry? Want somethin’ ta’ eat before you go back?”

“…Yeah…yeah, I guess.” Yevgeny muttered, his eyes downcast, focused on the countertop.

Mickey spared another wary glance at his son before walking slowly over to one of the cabinets and pulling out an extra plate.

It was no secret to anyone that Yevgeny didn’t like Jax and Mickey was sure that the feeling was mutual between the two of them. When Mickey first introduced them to one another, it was close to a year after he and Jax had started fucking, not necessarily dating, since they mostly just spent time in Jax’s bedroom talking and of course, fucking, they had yet to make that step into real relationship territory.

But Mickey felt that his son deserved to at least know who it was his father kept going out with and leaving him with either his mother or aunt or sometimes both of them every weekend. When Jax had rang the doorbell, Mickey opened the door and Jax commented that he looked extremely annoyed to which Mickey rolled his eyes and said that his ex-wife and sister were there and endlessly dogging him about everything that involved this “new man” in his life.

Introducing Jax to his small little family went about as well as a random ass dude dressed from head to toe in black, with shades and a hat on, creeping into a bank; it went horribly _wrong_. Mandy was all over Jax despite the fact that she had a boyfriend waiting for her at home, she didn’t lose that predictability of crawling all over guys who were the slightest bit attractive. And since Jax was comparable to a model, a rugged and aggressive and scarred model at least, Mandy was having a fucking field day.

Svetlana was asking all different types of questions all in the range of inappropriate and none of her fucking business. Mandy, though she was rubbing herself all over the man, asked normal people questions, like “what do you do for a living” and “do you have any pets”, generic bullshit like that, instead of “what size is penis” and “what is favorite position”.

Mickey had to yell and snap at them at least a hundred times within the hour and he ended up gaining a monstrous headache by the end of the night.

Thankfully Jax took the two women’s antics all in stride, laughing and claiming that he was flattered from all the attention he was receiving and the dude had balls, answering each and every one of their questions, _truthfully_. Mickey could vouch for any of the ones pertaining to sex obviously, but a few of the other ones, who the fuck knew. Mickey would have just said it was none of their goddamn business and moved the fuck on, but that was one of the things that the blue-eyed male could really appreciate in Jax, his brutal honesty.

All the questions stopped though, when Yevgeny stepped out of his room, curious of all the noise he could hear from his room, and that was when Mickey introduced his kid and his fuck buddy? to each other.

Jax held out his hand but Yevgeny just stared at it with raised eyebrows and just walked right back into his room. Mandy started to hysterically laugh while Svetlana just looked at Mickey her own eyebrow cocked up in question. Mickey was a bit shocked as ‘Geny wasn’t the type to do something like that; he surprisingly was a nice and well-mannered kid and took to strangers easily. But he knew it wasn’t necessarily unusual for a kid to dislike or be rude when a new person walked into the picture of their parent’s life.

He wasn’t the type of parent and neither was Svetlana to force their kid to make nicey-nice with someone. If you don’t like them, you don’t like them, whatever. And he just figured that maybe Jax’ll grow on Yev and they’ll become friends or something. So, Mickey told Jax not to worry about it and he’ll be alright, yada yada yada and Jax said that he understood and told them about how when a new man entered his mother’s life, he was a complete asshole to the dude in the beginning but he turned out to be not so bad.

Mickey placed the finished eggs, bacon, and banana pancakes onto the two large plates and walked over to the bar, sitting down next to his son and handing him his plate. The father immediately dug in while the son just slowly picked over his food, eating slowly and silently.

“What time does your mom expect you back?” Mickey asked after a few beats of silence.

“She said she didn’t care as long as it was before midnight,” Yevgeny muttered. “I’m planning on hanging out with some friends after I leave here, so…”

It wasn’t until the third year that Mickey and Jax were essentially together, officially became boyfriends after a year of dedication to only fucking and talking, and dating for two years, Jax asked Mickey and Yevgeny to move in with him.

Mickey was hesitant at first.

Sure, their relationship was good. The sex was amazing and Jax had proven to be an insanely crazy yet hilarious and laid back guy.

But it had become apparent to Mickey over the years that Jax and Yevgeny _hated_ each other.

Whenever Jax would come around and hang out in the apartment, Yev wouldn’t speak to him and Jax wouldn’t either. When talking about each other, Yev had reserved the nickname “Boxer Douche” for Jax while the older male just called Yev a “brat.” Mickey was constantly getting on both of their asses about how they addressed each other, especially Jax, because Yev was his son and the only ones allowed to call him a brat is his family.

Mickey knew living with Jax would frankly be of some serious benefit to him and his son though. No more spiders and roaches popping up in random spots throughout their home. No more of the heat getting shut off in the dead of winter when Mickey couldn’t afford to pay the bill, even when working three different jobs. No more of hearing neighbors arguing loudly or the college students one floor below them always having big, blow-out parties or the cops being called out countless times per _week_.

And…Mickey was just tired of that shit. Tired of having to threaten some drunk and high kids from banging on random peoples’ doors for what they think is shits and giggles. Tired of having to wake up at all hours of the night just to make sure his son was alright and the loud _pop_ - _pop_ - _pop_ sounds of gunshots outside or the shitty couple next door or the ditzy band of teenagers downstairs didn’t frighten him too much. Especially tired of having to sleep with a gun under his pillow and of having to hand his barely teenaged son a tazer gun to hide under his own pillow as well as a baseball bat to conceal on the other side of his bed when cases of robberies and killings have been reported throughout the whole town of where they lived.

That gave Mickey the push to just say “fuck it” and pack up, which took longer than one may think since they had a tiny apartment and Mickey barely had enough money to splurge on themselves, but they’ve acquired quite the amount of knick knacks over the years of living there. A week later, Mickey and Yevgeny were officially moved in with the boxer and Mickey was still uncertain but slowly as the days fused into weeks and eventually into months, he relaxed and accepted it.

The same couldn’t be said for Yevgeny.

How would you feel if you had to move into a person’s house; the very same person that you hated?

Yeah, it didn’t go over too well.

They rarely spoke and when they did, an argument quickly followed. What used to be dinner for three soon became dinner for two as when Yevgeny was over, he would eat in his room, ignoring Jax’s constant complaints about it.

Yevgeny tried to prolong his inevitable visits to Jax’s house as much as possible just to avoid any interaction with him because just looking at the dude’s smug face made Yevgeny want to bash him in it with a fucking table.

Mickey noticed his son’s disinterest with eating and glanced at him with concealed worry and a raised eyebrow before continuing on with his own meal. “My cookin’ no longer as good as your mom’s or somethin’?”

“…Huh?”

Mickey pulled the fork away from his mouth, chewing slowly, now fully staring at his son. “Why’re you pickin’ over your food like that?”

Yevgeny looked down at his still full plate and shrugged his shoulders, pushing the plate away. “Ah…guess ‘m just not hungry.”

“What’s-”

“Ian’s been asking about you…”

A thicker cover of tension settled over them the second Yev utters those words. Mickey tried to fight through the desire to stop eating so as to not let his son onto the fact that anything about Ian or just hearing his name still made his blood boil.

“Fuck him.” Mickey finished shoveling his food into his mouth and washed it down with his coffee, before picking up his plate and Yev’s unfinished one and walking over to the sink.

Nothing was said for the next couple seconds. “…He really wants to-”

“I don’t wanna hear shit about what he wants or what he thinks he needs ta’ say, Yevgeny.”

Hearing his father’s no more bullshit voice, Yev shut his mouth but then opened it back up in defiance.

“What happened to your face?” He already knew the answer though.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” Mickey responds with automatically.

Yevgeny’s jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists where they rested on the bar top. It pissed him off that his father thought him naïve to not see that there’s always more to what Mickey’s letting on. He’s known since he was 15 that his father and his asshole boyfriend had a relationship that was filled with more yelling and fights than every professional hockey game _combined_.

It was the reason why he didn’t live there anymore and instead lived with his mother and her husband because Svetlana knew what was going on and wanted him out of there before anything bad happened to him when she and Mandy couldn’t convince Mickey to leave Jax.

Mickey and Svetlana had made an arrangement to let Yev stay over Mickey and Jax’s for the weekends because for Mickey that was still his son and for Yev that was still his father.

But as much as it pained him to see his father like this, eye swollen, blaringly purple and reddish with a split lip and cuts and bruises decorating his face and his body from what was uncovered by his clothes, barely able to walk right, Yevgeny _hated_ him for allowing Jax into their lives and fucking everything up.

“I’ve been telling him about what’s being done to-”

“The fuck’re you talkin’ ‘bout? Huh? Nothing’s bein’ done to me, if that’s where you were goin’ with that sentence.”

Yevgeny gave his father a hard glare. “If nothing’s being done to you, why do you always look like you’ve been pushed down a flight of stairs nearly _every_ time I see you? Unless it’s ‘cause you’re clumsy, but if that’s the case, we need ta’ get you ta’ the doctor fucking ASAP, get you a damn MRI scan.”

Mickey focused on cleaning the dishes answers his son. “…Watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

“That’s all you gotta say? Is for me ta’ watch my “fucking mouth”? You’re being _abused_!”

Mickey slowly turned around to face his now standing son, the rest of the dishes lying forgotten at the moment in the sink. “Is that what you been sayin’ ta’ people? Ta’ him?” He questioned dangerously. “That I’m being _abused_?”

“Well, I certainly ain’t been telling them that he’s been giving you chocolate and roses!”

Gritting his teeth in aggravation, Mickey took a deep breath to calm down. It really wasn’t Yev’s business what was going on in his life and it was definitely no one else’s business either. Not only that but he was Mickey Milkovich; known throughout the Southside as being a violent, temperamental asshole who had more than enough means to take care of himself and take matters into his own hands. He didn’t want people to start to pity him and find out how ironic it was that he was kicked back down the pedestal and that that’s what he deserved. It made him feel weak. The lowest of the low and who in the word liked feeling that way?

“Who you been tellin’ that bullshit to?”

“Mom and Aunt Mandy already knew the minute it started happening and when Ian came back he forced it outta me. I’m sure he’s been talking about it to the rest of his family ‘cause every time we hang out he always asks if you’re okay and if you need anything and that they’ll help out if they can.”

“Goddammit, Yev! My business isn’t yours ta’ tell! When I tell you not ta’ worry ‘bout it or mind your business, I fuckin’ mean it!”

The 18 year-old gave his father an incredulous look. “You’re being _hurt_ , nearly every month. You’re my father, how does that not make it my business? You ever stop to think that if something happens to you, it’s going to fucking _kill_ me? Sure I’d still have Mom and Aunt Mandy and Uncle Iggy and Ian and the rest of them but you’re my _Dad_. You’ve done _every_ thing for me, to make sure I was safe and always had enough food to eat, clothes on my back…why can’t you just do this one thing for yourself if not for me? _Leave_ him, Dad. You don’t need this shit!” Yevgeny pleaded, his deep voice cracking towards the end.

Mickey sighed and felt that heavy feeling starting to descend in the back of his throat at hearing his son’s desperation. He couldn’t know the truth about Jax, because it’ll suck him in too and that’s the last thing he wanted for his son. He’d done everything he could to make sure Yevgeny didn’t get caught up in the streets and end up in the thug life like he did and he’ll be damned if he had any type of association with it now. He swallowed before speaking up. “It’s…it’s not that simple, Yev.” Mickey internally flinched when his son punched a nearby wall in anger. “You just gotta understand-”

“I don’t gotta understand fuck all! The only thing I understand right now is that you’re _willingly_ allowing that bastard to beat on you because you think you love him!”

That made Mickey stand up straight, his voice steeling itself in trying to make his son comprehend. “That is _not_ the reason-”

“Oh, fuck off, don’t try ta’ treat me like a kid and like I don’t know what love does to people. Please don’t do that.”

“I told you to watch your goddamn mouth-” Mickey started again, face drawn up in that warning look of his.

“Here we go again with the whole language thing-” Yevgeny rolled his eyes, exasperatedly throwing his arms up in the air.

“It’s not just about that, it’s the way you’re talkin’ ta’ me, I’m still your Dad, Yev. The adult.”

“Funny that only one of us in this kitchen is acting like one and it ain’t you-”

Mickey got to Yevgeny in five rapid strides and smacked him in the mouth. He let out a small wince as the quick movement made his injury downstairs throb in remembrance of a couple days ago but pushed the pain aside.

He rarely hit his son. He let Yevgeny’s cursing and little flips with the lips go more often than not because he wasn’t that type of parent to bug out at every turn their kid curses or gets a little smart; Mickey was so much worse at Yev’s age towards adults excluding his father, but at the same time a line had to be drawn somewhere.

His frustration at Jax and his life situation as well as Yev telling people about what was going on probably played a much larger factor than that reason though.

“I don’t give a fuck what you think about what I’m goin’ through but if you think you can talk ta’ me like the way you just did,” Mickey’s eyebrows raised further up on his face, his now metallic-colored blue eyes stormy with anger. “You are so fuckin’ mistaken it’s laughable. You got me?”

Yevgeny dejectedly nodded, lifting his eyes up from where they were having a stare-down with the tiled floor and his back went stiff, his eyes turning hard.

Mickey noticed the sudden change and turned to where his eyes were staring somewhere over Mickey’s shoulder.

“I guess I interrupted a little father-son moment. Just came to see what smelled so good.” Jax said as leaned against one side of the entrance to the spacious kitchen, clad only in boxers and a t-shirt. “And what the yelling was about but now I guess I know.”

“It’s nothin’.” Mickey quickly said, carefully walking back to the kitchen sink and starting to work on the dishes again.

Jax looked from Mickey to Yevgeny whom was still standing on the other side of the bar glaring heatedly at him, back to Mickey’s tense shoulders and shrugged his own. He went to the fridge and grabbed himself the carton of orange juice and a cup from a nearby cabinet.

Yevgeny watched the scene play out; his father nonchalantly washing the dishes and putting them away and Jax innocently drinking orange juice.

Yevgeny shook his head and scoffed in disbelief. “You’re such a piece of shit.”

“Yevgeny!” Mickey flipped the water off, having just finished everything when his son blurted out the insult directed towards his boyfriend.

Jax just raised an eyebrow, a slow smile curling onto his face. “Y’know, it’s funny, ‘cause that’s the same thing your father called me a few days ago. Like father, like son, right?”

“You think this is just some fucking joke?”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Yev, just…stop it, alright?” Mickey tried.

“I’m not stopping shit until this fuck head explains why he feels the need ta’ put his fucking hands on you all the time!”

Jax let out a small laugh and slowly set his orange juice on the counter behind him, before turning back to Yevgeny and crossing his large arms over his chest.

“I ain’t got no beef with you, kid.”

“Oh, but you have some with my father? Please, do explain ta’ me what it is that he’s done that warrants getting hit all the time.” Yevgeny sarcastically said, now fully stepping into the kitchen.

The boxer completely ignored the indignant youth and directed his attention towards Mickey. “I gotta go take care of something in a couple hours, so I probably won’t be back until later on, possibly tomorrow morning. You gonna be alright?”

Mickey took his eyes off of his infuriated son and let them rest on his boyfriend instead. “Yea…yeah, I’ll be fine.” Mickey knew that Jax wouldn’t say anything about what it was exactly that he had to take care of that would most likely take a good chunk of the day to do in front of Yevgeny and he himself took care not to question it.

Jax nodded. He picked his cup of OJ back up and walked up to Mickey, leaning down to place a tender kiss upon the hurt lips. Jax slipped a couple more kisses in being cautious so as not to aggravate the bruised mouth anymore than it already was. Mickey’s eyes closed and allowed the comfort that Jax was doling out to him.

It was always like this. Jax would kick and punch and slap, mainly punch, Mickey to the point where Jax felt his point was made or to the point where Mickey was rendered motionless from roaring pain. But then a few hours later or the next day, things would go back to what it was like at the beginning of their relationship. Jax being sweet and nice, treating him like a real boyfriend.

It was also weird. Jax isn’t the usual type of abuser, if there were such things as usual abusers. The thing is most abusers dictate their partner’s or their kid’s lives completely or almost completely. They control who they could hang out with, sometimes the places they’re only allowed to go, what they could eat and drink. If they saw them hanging out or having a good time with someone or found that they were talking about someone a little too much then they’d go ape shit and lay into them.

But not with Jax.

He wasn’t like that. He allowed Mickey free reign to do whatever the fuck he liked, like how a genuine relationship was supposed to go. Jax knew about Ian and his history with him and he didn’t give two shits. He didn’t flip when Yevgeny mentioned him sometimes, he just didn’t care. Mickey would drive off to wherever he needed to go to get stuff done and Jax didn’t ask any questions.

But the one thing that absolutely set Jax off in pertinence to Mickey was Mickey’s smart mouth. He didn’t mind it much when it was just the two of them alone but if they were in front of other people or just one other person and Mickey said something that Jax felt embarrassed or disrespected him then the moment they got home or in the car, the larger man would let loose.

Mickey knew he was a sarcastic little fuck and that he didn’t hold his tongue for no one and a lot of times it showed, especially when dealing with idiocy or the assholes that worked for Jax. He’s even punched a couple of them in the face when they got a little too close or held the belief that they could talk to him however they wanted since they felt he was just Jax’s toy or some shit like that. Jax sometimes let the punches go because he knew that the bastards deserved it, other times he’d just stop Mickey before he could land one and a couple times Jax would kick their asses himself.

However, in the terms of conducting business, Mickey was ordered to keep his mouth shut and just sit or stand, wherever it was that the business was being done at the time.

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

Mickey and Jax broke apart at hearing Yevgeny’s annoyed scream.

“Yev…”

“He beat your ass not that long ago and _now_ you’re acting as if _nothing_ happened? The fuck’s _wrong_ with you?”

“Cut it out-”

“Fuck it.” Yevgeny started closer towards where Jax was still standing by, a spectator to the drama with an amused smile on his face. “You wanna hit on someone, why don’t you hit on me? I’m closer to your size and obviously my father refuses to defend himself against you. Me? I don’t have that problem, let’s go.”

The smile started to disappear from the tanned man’s face. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, kid.”

“And _you_ don’t know what _you’re_ asking for when I get the cops down here to lock your ass up for domestic fucking abuse!”

Jax took a threatening step forward, his mindset starting to get real tired of this kid and his mouth, just like his father. “They can’t do a damn thing.”

Yev inched closer. “You wanna bet? I’ll have them down here in two minutes. They won’t give a squat of squirrel shit if you used to be some big time boxer-”

“Nah, but they’ll give one about-”

Mickey quickly jumped into the banter before Jax could say anything else. “I told you I can take care a’ myself and that this shit isn’t any a’ your business. How many times do I gotta repeat myself?”

“How many times are you going to let this fucking douche-bag treat you like one of his opponents?!”

The dark haired young man was all out hollering now and in blind fury lashed out at Jax, punching him in the face.

Mickey felt his bones grow cold.

Not over the fact that Yevgeny hit Jax, it was definitely merited, but over the fact that Yevgeny actually was able to land a hit on him. That meant that Jax let Yev hit him and Mick’s been around Jax long enough to know that when he lets someone hit him, he’s coming back 10 times _worse_ than what was done to him.

Jax calmly placed his OJ down and faced the obstinate Yev. “I’ll let that one pass,” Jax continued over Yev’s scoff. “But that’s the first time and the last time you get that.”

“Or what?”

“Yevgeny, just shut the fuck up and go!”

That shut the high-schooler up right away. The shock and hurt and disappointment that swirled in his darkened blue eyes pierced right through Mickey’s soul with the knowledge that he caused that expression to appear in the mirrored eyes.

“You know what? Fine. Stay here and tolerate being treated like a chained dog. I can obviously see that you choose this piece of shit over your own goddamn son.” Yevgeny stomped out of the kitchen and into the living room, snatching his bag and keys from the couch where he threw it down earlier and stormed back into the kitchen to say his last piece. “You wanna see me again? It ain’t gonna be here ‘cause I’m done coming over. Keep taking this shit if you want to.”

With that, Yevgeny exited the kitchen, ignoring his father’s weak call of “Yev…” and Mickey closed his eyes at the resounding slam of the front door.

“Mickey…”

“I’m…” Mickey’s voice cracked and he swallowed a couple times before resuming. “I’m gonna go lay down for a bit…”

Mickey shuffled out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs as if he was Atlas himself and carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Completely numb, Mickey collapsed into the bed, barely registering how much better the room and bed looked than it did those couple days ago and lamented over the shitty hand he’d been dealt. It wasn’t something he usually did, when shit hit the fan, he’d be the first one to be out trying to take his mind off of it and tough it out.

Not this time.

He had to get away, he knew he did. But it wasn’t that simple. He’s never tried to leave Jax before because it always at the forefront of his mind that if he disappeared on him then Jax would have plenty incentive to go after his family and possibly the Gallaghers. Not only that but he still unfortunately cared for Jax.

It wasn’t always Friday Night Fights in the beginning. They seriously had a lot of amazing times together and the pinnacle of it was where Mickey could truthfully and admittedly say that he was starting to fall in love. Again.

But that first hit and then the second and then the third, it knocked his in love level back down to just care for the guy. Mickey was reminded of it when Jax kissed him like he did downstairs in the kitchen. It ironically made him feel safe and allowed him to block out everything else for a couple seconds because it was unfair and just hurt him too much to really think about.

Mickey didn’t even jump when he felt a body join him on the bed, the warm heat of it enveloping him as thick and corded arms wrapped around him. “Someone else is taking care of what I had to do. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

The lost Milkovich kept his eyes wielded shut and in that moment, he had to make a choice.

And he should’ve chosen it years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very fucked up and sad, I know.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	4. Author's Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a somewhat brief author's note that I doubt everyone will completely read. Going to try and keep this short and to the point though.

I kept putting the idea of creating this author’s note off, mainly because I’m sure some will be disappointed that it’s not a new chapter and also because I never felt that these were necessary. I feel like the reason behind a person’s lack of updates to their own works is their business and their business alone, and an explanation is certainly not owed but some appreciate it. Personally, I’m just content with the fact that a fanfic and a writer’s works that I’ve come to enjoy even exist in the first place, whether it’s finished or not.

As time passed though, I’d see notifications pop up in my e-mail showing me a new comment, bookmark, subscriber or kudos associated with my works and I pretty much felt like an even bigger asshole than I already am, especially since I’m on this site everyday reading hundreds of fanfics from dozens and dozens of other fandoms and I could possibly use that time to write more.

I’d like to blame it completely on writer’s block and my overactive mind generating new ideas faster than what I can sometimes type and _life_ in general. But that’s bullshit. The real reason? Laziness. Outside of work, I’m pretty much lazing around reading, watching movies or listening to music. Shit, even a full tank of gas in my car will sometimes last me close to a month; that’s how little I do. And as much as I love all of that, I know that somewhere in there, I could’ve fit some time in to write. As aforementioned, I don’t pay attention to author’s notes too much, but I’ll catch glimpses of an explanation about working so and so jobs while still in school or doing this and that, all the while they're consistent with updates, banging out amazing chapter after amazing chapter and I’m just like ‘well, fuck, I’ve got one job and just a couple bills to pay, so what exactly is my excuse?’

The other problem is, I'll get hit with so many new and different ideas that I immediately open up a new doc and I just stare blankly at the screen because I can't write the build up to what that new plot point is. And then sometimes I get ideas but I want someone else to come up with the same one and write it just so I don't have to; I know that's pretty common with writers.

I don’t feel guilty about being lazy and unmotivated at times. If I don’t feel like doing something, I’m definitely not going to force myself, because then I’ll just rush through to get it done, sometimes resulting in something sloppy. I know I owe no one any explanations and I’m generally unapologetic in what I say and how I do things, but I truly feel I have to apologize and just let people know what’s up. People take the time to read, comment, subscribe etc. so I feel I can take the time to give the people who care some insight.

So, with having said all of that, here’s the deal.

 ** _In Something You Can’t Get Out Of_** – Revising the entire story. I plan on posting the whole story at one time instead of chapter by chapter; I feel people have waited long enough.

 _ **How Many Secrets Can You Keep**_ – Same thing as ISYCGOO. Revising entire story and posting it all in one go; may change it to Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamic instead of intersex though.

 _ **It’s Just Nothing** _ – May not continue.

 _ **A Bet Is Stronger Than A Dare** _ – May not continue **.**

 _ **Brewing Storm** _ – May not continue.

I’m honestly not too invested in the Shameless fandom anymore for a couple reasons. And I was messing with the idea of deleting a lot of my already posted stories, but I didn't want to take it away from people who may still enjoy them. So, I'm trying to read through them all and focus on ways I can improve my writing.

But for the first two stories, I’m determined to get them somewhere and finish them because I have so many ideas for both of those stories. Before those two though, I’m working to get out a one-shot, possibly a two-shot about Mickey having moved on with his life with a new man and he’s actually happy from everyone else's P.O.V. I really want to get that one out first.

When all of this is going to happen? I'm sorry, I honestly wish I had a clue. All I ask for is everyone's patience if anyone will give it.

And I'm not even going to bullshit, but I've also been looking to write some works for another fandom, so that's also a reason for the delays in these stories. I said that in case some people decide to feel some type of way if I post a new work from a whole other fandom instead of focusing on the ones I still have yet to finish; I highly doubt anyone's going to do that though, shit's not that serious.

 

By the way, I just want to add, that **fanfic writers do write for free but readers read for free too**.

Just like writers aren’t obligated to provide anything for anyone, the **readers aren’t obligated to comment, subscribe, bookmark or give kudos if they don’t want to**. Sure, it feels great to know that there's people out there that genuinely like our works but not everyone feels comfortable commenting and some people may forget to give kudos but did decide to bookmark a work and/or subscribe to it. Or sometimes, people just don't want to do any of it. I don't know why nor do I honestly care. That's their choice. I know with me, I rarely comment, unless I absolutely can't contain my amazement with a story. But I do give kudos and bookmark the hell out of shit like it's going to disappear if I don't.

I've seen a few times where I get to the end of the chapter in stories and I see writers claiming they want to see more comments and kudos on their works or they want specific comments and really? A comment is a comment. Sure, the comment box is a way of providing feedback but a comment can also just be someone giving a simple compliment or screaming in text and other weird shit like that that I've seen. Whatever. As long as it's not a nasty, rude remark someone's leaving, why does it matter? Especially if there's 50 other commentators giving you that constructive criticism that you need or explaining what they liked about certain parts in the story. The few people that just say 'I love it, update' or anything similar, I doubt it's going to make a huge difference in the hundred other people explaining in depth their love for your story.  Come on, appreciate all of that shit, people. There's a good amount of works out there that don't even get a single comment or subscriber and the like and they still write shit because they enjoy it and want to get better at it, not because they need constant validation about their work which they already know is good from the hundreds of bookmarks, subscribers, comments and thousands of kudos they've already received.

I know that writers feel insecure about their work sometimes, I know I do, especially when I look back on my earlier works, I sometimes say to myself 'what the fuck was I thinking here?' but I started to learn from it and took note of how I can only improve from here on out.

I also get that acknowledgement and the like from readers can be extremely beneficial to a writer, absolutely, but soliciting readers to comment a certain way or to comment at all is fairly ridiculous. The explanation of ‘I want to know people are enjoying it’ and the different variations of that are hilarious because if you've reached that point where you're pushing the thousands or even the hundreds on kudos alone, especially in a short amount of time, then honestly? I guess that goes without saying.

But you know what, at the end of the day, a person’s work is their own and if they want something done a specific way pertaining to their fanfics, then by all means, they can have at it. I'm sure people will disagree with that, if anyone even reads this but I just felt that that needed to be said. 

So, to everyone who reads my works, have read my works, have gone through my bookmarks and read those and to those who have commented, bookmarked, subscribed and given me kudos, **seriously, fucking thank you**. **I appreciate it**. I know I don't really respond to comments anymore, but I read them all and I'm happy with them all and they really help me do better or at least try harder to become motivated again. If you’ve read my works or you are reading my works and you don’t comment, bookmark, subscribe or even give me kudos, that's alright, I still appreciate you too and thank you because it’s getting attention regardless.

 

Thank you. That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, that was way longer than it needed to be.


End file.
